


Christmas Decorations and Tummy Kisses

by die_traumerei



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Body Worship, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley loves Aziraphale's body, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Other, and makes sure he knows it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:01:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21671908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale decorate their Christmas trees, and then have some much-needed snuggle time. That's it. That's the story.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 177
Collections: Ace-Friendly Aziraphale Belly Kiss Fics, Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	Christmas Decorations and Tummy Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Just a nice, happy little holiday story featuring a little light body worship and lots of tummy kisses, because there's never enough of either when it comes to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale looked at the Christmas tree, which had done nothing to deserve any of this, then he looked at Crowley, then he looked at the tree.

“You've been yelling at it,” he accused.

“I haven't!”

“Yes you have! Look, it's grown roots.”

Crowley tilted his head to one side. “Eeeeeeh, has it really?” he asked.

“Crowley I can _see_ them. And so can you, so don't try to tell me you can't. I know your eyes don't work like mine but not like _that_.”

“Eeeeeeeh?” Crowley tried, and Aziraphale gave him a look for ages.

“I wasn't yelling at it! I mean, not _just_ the tree! I was giving them all my usual watering-day pep talk. And it was. You know. Present.”

Aziraphale sighed, and petted a branch that was definitely thicker than it had been a few days ago. The poor thing was also a foot taller, if the roots hadn't been enough of a clue. “Don't listen to the bad demon, you're a very good tree,” he comforted. Aziraphale had been roundly forbidden from complimenting Crowley's plants, as it spoiled them terribly, but this was a  _Christmas tree_ , not a plant. And anyway, they had a long day ahead with two trees to decorate, here and at the bookshop. And now they'd have to figure out where to plant the poor thing, come Epiphany.

Well, that was a problem for Future Aziraphale. Present Aziraphale at least had limited problems at worst; brand new fairy lights meant they didn't have to untangle last year's rat's-nest to get the tree lights up. (That would be a challenge for later, when they were setting up the bookshop's Christmas tree and the lights, although definitely stored neatly away last year, had transformed into a wild tangle that would take half a bottle of wine and some healthy very bad language to undo.)

Crowley and Aziraphale bickered warmly over how to set the lights in place, of course, because it wouldn't be decorating a tree without a good bicker, but it also meant that they worked close together, side-by-side, and at one point Aziraphale was actually on a little stepstool and leaning up and over Crowley, their bodies curving together.

Crowley often got flustered when Aziraphale touched him. It was adorable and heartbreaking at the same time, but Aziraphale was...no, not getting used to it. Never getting used to this thing between them, the love that they could bring out, blinking, into the sunlight. But he knew to expect it, and it often faded as Crowley was distracted by something else.

It didn't seem to fade today, though. Crowley remained blushy and stuttered a bit, and talked a lot of bollocks about robins and Christmas trees as they decorated.

He calmed a little when they finished with his tree and repaired to the bookshop where an identical one (if a foot shorter and lacking roots) awaited them. The part where Aziraphale pulled him down onto his lap and kissed him soundly might have had something to do with it too, he fancied. It was very full of himself to think so, but he did have something of a grounding effect on the demon.

(He had once asked Crowley about it, when they were a glass or two of wine in, the perfect moment when words came easily to Aziraphale's sweetheart. “Do I calm you?” he'd asked. “Not that you need calming, you're perfect as you are. But. Maybe when you want it?”

Crowley's eyes had gone so soft, Aziraphale's heart had melted in his chest, and that's truly what it had felt like. “Angel,” he'd said. “Oh angel. You give me a still place. An anchor. Home. Yeah. Yeah, when I think I'm going to fly apart, or shatter. Yes. You calm me.”

“Oh, dear boy.” And only a glass of wine or no, words failed Aziraphale. He had held out his arms and cradled Crowley in them, had tried _so hard_ to be a bulwark against the world. To protect Crowley with all of him, and they hadn't said much more that night, just touched and smiled and kissed, and were together.)

It happened again, though, in the same way. Aziraphale had gone up on a little step stool to place the star atop the tree – Crowley's tree had got an angel, which he thought was  _hilarious_ – and his body pressed against Crowley's back. He heard a very small 'ngk', and watched Crowley's hand tremble. And keep trembling.

Maybe they both needed a breather; once he was down on the ground Aziraphale managed to stutter something about cocoa, and fled to the kitchen. The soft ritual of heating milk and whipping in chocolate and finding marshmallows would be just what he needed.

Treacherous thought, as he added a little vanilla – his belly had been pressed against Crowley, and his thighs, and their arms had laid atop each other for a moment, and maybe all that softness, the droopy bits of him, had disgusted...

No. Crowley was Crowley; not Gabriel, not any of the other angels. Crowley loved his body and told him so. Crowley turned into a snake and took long naps curled up on Aziraphale's tum, or snuggled against the soft skin of his neck and his face. Crowley loved all of him, tip to toe, and had never,  _would never_ make Aziraphale feel bad about this corporation. Would never look at him when Aziraphale was anxious and frightened and sad and do anything but gather him close and whisper comfort, promise that they'd make it better, the two of them, because that's what they did.

This thought so comforted Aziraphale that he was more cheerful than usual when he reappeared with their treats, handing Crowley's over with a kiss. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” Crowley replied, of course, a little bemused. “But what brought this on?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Just thinking. Nothing important, dear. Now the hard part's over, let's decide what will go on this year.”

Aziraphale had collected baubles and decorations and things since, more or less, the invention of the modern Christmas tree, and there was no way they would all fit, even on two trees. Crowley had picked his favourites for the tree at his place, but this still left – well. More than a few boxes.

So they giggled and decided and put back and decided anew, and Aziraphale told stories of the ornaments Crowley didn't remember, and Crowley told stories of the ones  _he_ remembered but Aziraphale didn't, and between them, soon enough, the tree was absolutely groaning. It was also a riot of colour and light and everything Aziraphale loved best in the world, including Crowley stretching up high to place a delicate glass bauble with '1952' on it in chipped paint. His body was long and beautiful, all planes and stark black clothes, and his shirt rode up to show a few inches of stomach, and Aziraphale might have maybe understood a little better the trembling and stuttering of earlier.

It came back around that night, as they prepared for bed together. They had gone out to dinner near Crowley's place, so it made sense to go back there. Aziraphale obviously kept clothes in both abodes; they were a kind of large extended home, as far as he was concerned, and the fact that a few miles of London actually separated the two wasn't a detail worth being concerned over. He had changed into pyjama pants and was about to put on the top when Crowley stopped him.

“Wait, angel,” he said, and looked so shy and sweet, half-hiding behind a curtain of hair. “I just. I've wanted to do this since this morning,” he confessed, and laughed, and blushed, and looked so nervous and unsure that Aziraphale didn't even ask.

“Whatever it is, dearest, go ahead,” he said. Aziraphale could be gentle and patient with Crowley until the end of time.

Crowley gave him a trembly sort of smile, and knelt, and pressed a kiss to Aziraphale's bare belly. The soft skin dented, of course, where Crowley's nose pressed in, where his face rested. He nuzzled, and Aziraphale's stomach molded around the sharp angles of Crowley's face, still soft, all shadow and curve.

Crowley kissed his belly again, and again, and only stopped when Aziraphale's hand rested on his head.

“Let's move to the bed? Your knees must be hurting.” Crowley _did_ feel such things a little more sharply, being all skin and bone would do that to a creature. Though – and Aziraphale was _very_ proud of this – he had filled out a touch more since they had begun to spend the proper amount of time together, which was every sleeping moment and most of the waking ones.

And also – he didn't like the idea of Crowley kneeling before him. If they were their own side, that meant equals. Which meant taking Crowley to bed and laying him down and petting his hair until he'd got his fill of kissing Aziraphale's belly, finally settling with his head over Aziraphale's heart, arms wrapped around his waist and hugging him tightly.

“I love you so,” Aziraphale murmured. “I love how you love my body, darling. But what on earth brought that about?”

Crowley smiled and shrugged. “It was earlier. When you were reaching up over me, and you pressed against me. You were so  _soft_ , angel, so warm and I felt.” He paused, and Aziraphale tried to remember to breathe. These were welcome feelings. Love feelings. Crowley wasn't disgusted by his body, and never had been, and never would be. 

“I felt safe,” Crowley said. “Like you shelter me, and you protect me.”

“With my life,” Aziraphale said. “Forever and always.”

“I know! I just. It felt. Good. Your belly felt so good pressed against me, and your thighs, all the softest, strongest parts of you,” he explained. “Sorry. That's why I was such a dip.”

“Shut up. You weren't. You were...adorable.” Aziraphale hugged him back just as tightly. “You _are_ wonderful, you know that, right? Crowley, you look at me with such love. More love than I. Than I can sometimes manage, for this body.”

Crowley made a noise, and stroked Aziraphale's belly. To say it was endearing was an understatement, and Aziraphale brushed his thumb across Crowley's lips in thanks. “I said sometimes,” he reminded him. “Mostly I'm very content with how I look. How we look together. How handsome I can be on your arm.”

“You'd better,” Crowley said darkly, and snuggled a little closer. “Are you very cold, angel?”

“No, of course not. Oh. You want me to sleep like this?”

“If. If you want?” Crowley bit his lip and looked up at him. “Please?”

Someday Crowley would figure out that now, in this new world, he could ask Aziraphale for anything, and get it with bows on. He asked for so little when he deserved everything; of course Azirpahale would give him this, and he told him so.

They got under the covers, Aziraphale fussing gently about Crowley's thin pyjamas, not really enough against the winter, for all that he kept his flat toasty. When he was contented that he wouldn't wake up to a snake-cicle, though, they both settled, and he had the great gift of stroking Crowley's hair until he drifted off, arms still around Aziraphale's bare waist, his chin pressing into the curve where Aziraphale's belly met his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! 
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


End file.
